


you're the anchor that i've tied to my brain

by MissSunFlower94



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Sometimes Friends Decide to Bang, To Cope?, post-178
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27952577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSunFlower94/pseuds/MissSunFlower94
Summary: Still too wired to sleep, Zolf and Cel find an outlet for their energy
Relationships: Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom & Zolf Smith, Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom/Zolf Smith
Comments: 9
Kudos: 30





	you're the anchor that i've tied to my brain

Zolf can’t sleep. 

It isn’t that he’s not tired. He most certainly is. By all accounts, he’s dead on his feet. 

He still can’t sleep.

Instead he’s thinking about Skraak, who probably isn’t avoiding him but hasn’t spoken or looked at him since his botched attempt at comfort and counseling, and to his brain that currently means the same thing. 

Instead he’s thinking about how long Wilde and Sassraa will be asleep, if this is longer than they should be sleeping, if Sassraa will be upset that she had missed the memorial for one of her teammates.

Instead he’s thinking about how, if he had been just a little bit more of a stubborn arse, that memorial nearly could have been Wilde’s, too. 

The Ursans had guided them to a large tavern that had rooms above it. Zolf had started the night watching Wilde sleep, but as the hours went on - rise and fall of the man’s chest be damned - it felt too much like staring at a corpse. Again. He’d pushed himself to his feet and left the room, leaving Cel, who had been sitting in the same room in silence, similarly watching Sassraa. 

Zolf paces the hall, stalking it like a particularly loud and clunky ghost. He could be walking to one of the remaining empty rooms, even gets close a few times, but instead turns back down the hall before he can push open the door. Left alone, in the dark, with his own thoughts, would be no better than watching Wilde’s prone form. Certainly wouldn’t make him any less anxious.

So now he’s alone with his thoughts in a hallway, in a loop between a bedroom and a vigil, very aware of how loud his footsteps are in the still, silent hours and pushed on by the restless adrenaline that has yet to dissipate.

If this was the inn in Okinoshima, or even the airship Zolf could cook something. Put all of this energy to work, the kind of work where he gets to see the results immediately. He’s half-convinced himself to go ahead and commandeer this tavern’s kitchen - he can apologize later - when he hears the floorboards behind him creak with someone else’s weight and spins around. 

In the dim light of what is now early morning, Cel looks half-dead themself. There are shadows like bruises under their eyes, their expression utterly drained of emotion. He’s sure he looks no better to them.

Before he can think of anything to say, they raise a hand in a small wave. “Hey,” they say, voice hoarse. “I thought you’d gone to bed.”

“Tried,” Zolf lies. “Can’t sleep.”

“Yeah,” Cel says through a sigh. “Yeah…” 

“Is that where you’re headed?”

They look behind them, back toward where Sassraa and Wilde still lay. “I’m not sure yet. Legs were falling asleep, though, so I thought I’d move a little bit.”

“The rest of you should sleep,” Zolf says dryly, rewarded when there’s a small flicker of a smile on their lips. “You were the one encouraging it earlier.”

“Yeah, and you’re hardly following my advice,” they say.

“Maybe I’m waiting to follow your lead,” he returns.

Cel’s eyebrows jump up and Zolf can feel his face warm. He’s not sure why he said that. He’s not sure why he said it _like that_. “I just- I just meant- you should- uh, rest,” he says, or tries to; in spite of his exhaustion, his heart rate has spiked again. “I- we could take shifts so one of us can- can be awake when, when they- wh-whe-when-” 

“Zolf,” Cel says, their voice shifting back to that combination of calm, firm and gentle that it was earlier that day. Zolf goes silent immediately, both words and breath getting caught in his throat. They consider him for a second. “I think… if I sleep now you’re not going to wake me for a shift - no, don’t say you would, because I know I wouldn’t wake you.” They smile; it’s tired and sad but it crinkles the corners of their eyes. He likes it. 

“Right. Sorry, that wasn’t-”

“It’s okay, Zolf,” they interrupt again before he can get lost in apologies and nerves and, again, he falls quiet, swallowing. Cel studies his face a moment longer before they send another glance behind them. “Alright.”

“Alright?”

“Follow my lead.” Cel pauses. “Or, um, I don’t actually know which room is ours- yours- where we’re- maybe you should lead?”

His laugh is strained and breathless but it’s still a laugh.

There are more than enough rooms for them all, taking into account that the kobolds all sleep together in a room with Hamid, that Azu doesn’t let Carter out of her sight and shares a room with him and Barnes, and that Earhart and the rest of her crew stick together. Even with the extra room for Wilde and Sassraa, there is one free with two beds.

He isn’t surprised when Cel sits beside him on one of them. In spite of what they might say to each other, neither of them want to sleep.

Neither of them want to talk much either, though, and so silence stretches between them. He watches Cel’s long legs bounce with a restless momentum. He nearly rests a hand on their thigh to still their movement and quickly looks away, rubbing his hands together. 

“I’m, um, I’m glad Sassraa came back,” he says at last.

Cel looks at him, their expression unreadable. Their legs have stopped trembling but there’s a set to their jaw that makes him think there’s a concentrated effort being put into not shaking. “Yeah,” they say. “They had- where they were was nice, so even if they’d chosen to stay I think it would have… been alright.”

Zolf nods. “Yeah. For- for Wilde it- it was-” He thinks to say quiet, or peaceful even. What he says is, “Too close.” 

There’s a beat of silence and he winces. Now _he's_ the one starting to shake again. “Sorry, that wasn’t- I didn’t mean to…” 

They rest a hand on his. “Shh, no,” they say, their tone somewhere between an affirmation and a command. Zolf swears he can feel it reverberate through him. “No, you… you don’t have to talk about it.” Their eyes search his face, keen and intense - all exhaustion seemingly gone - and his racing thoughts feel suddenly tethered by their gaze, by their touch, by their voice. That spike of adrenaline from before is still there, the restless energy that’s keeping him awake finding an outlet at last.

He surges forward and presses his mouth to theirs.

It comes in at an awkward angle, between their heights and the way Cel had only half-turned to face him. He pulls back before they react, his heart pounding and his face uncomfortably hot. “Cel, I-”

Cel brings a hand to his cheek, gently running their thumb over his lips, effectively silencing any attempt at explaining himself. “I know,” they say, and by the look in their eyes, flicking briefly to his mouth, he knows they do. 

They need this, too. Maybe not in the same way he does, but the same answer to this uncertainty hanging over them. Zolf needs to turn his thoughts off, to have nothing to think about but the immediate following of instruction, to put his actions in someone else’s hands for a while. Cel, he suspects, needs a simple puzzle, one that will respond the way they want it to, without needing to worry about variables or outside influence; just a straightforward cause and effect.

He’ll gladly be their puzzle for the night.

When he kisses them again, the response is immediate; properly facing him, cradling his face in their hands. Their lips are dry and chapped and, on an instinct he doesn’t recognize, his tongue brushes over them. Cel makes a soft noise that sends warmth coursing through him. They open their mouth further and deepen the kiss, taking a lead that he is happy to relinquish.

They part to breathe and Cel kisses him on the forehead. Their fingers scritch his beard and Zolf groans, his hands flexing in his lap. They catch the restless movement and smile, kissing him now on the tip of his nose. “Relax,” they breathe.

At any other time, in any other place, that sort of command would be so ridiculous as to be laughable. Here, however… Zolf’s shoulders drop, his hands going slack, tension seeping out of him like water through a sieve. Cel watches him intently, a flush rising to their cheeks and a slight gleam entering their eyes. They tilt his chin up and murmur, “ _Good boy_ ,” and Zolf’s breath catches.

Their next kiss is quick, almost chaste. They move a hand to rest on his chest, only applying pressure when he tries to chase their lips as they pull away. Zolf knows he could push back quite easily, but the gentle weight pins him all the same. Cel drags their hand slowly down his chest, making him shiver, before taking the hem of his shirt in hand. “You’re- this is alright?”

He nods.

Cel doesn’t move. “And you’ll tell me if it’s not, yeah?”

He nods again.

There’s another pause. “Can you say so?”

Zolf swallows. “Yes, Cel,” he says. 

Their smile returns, full of gratitude and something akin to pride. It makes it hard for him to breathe. “Thank you, Zolf.” They peck him on the lips again as a treat, then pull the shirt up over his head. He shivers again as cold air raises goosebumps on his skin, contrasting with the blood pumping hot in his veins. 

He reaches for them, for their shirt - loose and untucked - and Cel lightly swats at his hand. “Let me,” they say, leaving no room for argument. He gives none, sitting back and watching as they undo half of the buttons, leaving the shirt on and tantalizingly open. He drags his eyes up from their bared skin and he catches the slightest smirk on their lips before they add, “Can you lay down for me?”

He does so, settling back against the rough, homespun blankets and looking up at Cel as they perch themself beside him, their keen eyes roaming his face and his chest, the gleam in them more pronounced. Zolf recognizes the way Cel looks at something when they’re calculating how to take it apart, and feels another shudder of anticipation run through him.

So he doesn’t attempt to smother his moan when they run their hands over his skin, nails dragging hard enough to leave marks; he won’t deny them the results of their experiments. They run their thumb over his nipple, letting it harden under their caress and then tugging at it gently while he squirms and arches into the touch. When they move to repeat the action with his other nipple, he moves without thinking, resting a hand on their thigh to steady himself.

Cel pauses, their expression still thoughtful, almost academic as they consider what to do with him. At last, they take his hand off of them and he goes willingly, pliant and theirs. They place his arm above his head, running their fingers back down, feather-light over muscles and scars. They pass over his chest to his other arm which is soon brought into the same position, arms crossing loosely at the wrists.

“Stay right there for me,” they tell him. “Can you do that?”

Zolf nods, then gasps a soft, “Yes, Cel.”

They smile beautifically. “Good boy.”

Cel straddles his legs and finally shrugs off their shirt before leaning down to kiss him deeply, their fronts pressed together. Zolf moans again at the contact, at their searing hot kiss, and he clenches his fists helplessly above him, fighting the desire to tangle his fingers in Cel’s hair and hold them to him. His hips rock up, seeking some sort of friction against his rapidly hardening cock and when Cel pulls away again he _whines_. 

Some distant part of himself is surprised by the effect Cel's had on him with a few gentle commands. He can count how many times in his life he has been this aroused on one hand and still have a couple fingers left over. He’s not going to question it, though; what attention isn’t on his own aching need is spent on making sure he doesn’t move his hands, as requested. There’s no room for anything else in his head right now and it’s beautiful.

They wriggle a little until he’s opened his legs a bit and they’re now kneeling between them, and they get to work unbuttoning his trousers. “You really are being very good,” they breathe as their clever fingers make quick work of the buttons and begin to pull his clothing off, praising him the same tone he’s heard them speak to the airship engines. “Behaving so nicely for me.”

If Zolf had any presence of mind to reply, it’s gone when they run their fingers over his cock. His hips buck up again and he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. 

“Oh?” Cel says, all fascination and excitement. “Does that feel good, baby boy? Is this what you need?” Zolf whines again when they repeat the experimental stroking motion, as if they haven’t the faintest idea what it might be doing to him. The pressure is gone too soon and he makes small noises of protest. “Words, Zolf,” Cel says firmly. 

He whimpers for a second before managing, “More, please.”

They hum, considering it, gorgeously unbothered while teasing him. “Yeah? You want to come for me, Zolf?”

“Y-Yes- yes. Please, Cel.”

Cel cocks their head, and then with no more warning than that, wraps their hand around the base of him. Zolf gasps, clenching his fists tight enough that he’s certain he must have drawn blood. That concern leaves his head as quickly as it arrived as Cel takes a moment to lick their calloused palm and then return to pumping their hand up and down his length. 

“Cel- gods, fuck-” he chokes out, amazed he can manage that much. Distantly he hears them laugh, breathless and joyful and as arousing as anything else they’re doing to him.

They breathe a word he doesn’t know but can recognize as a swear. “Look at you. All messy and pretty and perfect.” They reach easily with their free hand to stroke his cheek again. His eyes flutter closed. “Relax; I can take care of everything for you.”

He obeys, letting his head fall back, letting everything fade away but the slick, rhythmic movement of their hand wrapped firmly around him. He is distantly aware of Cel still murmuring praises, of his own raw and wrecked moans but he can focus on none of it, nothing but the building pleasure that is slowly erasing the world around him, narrowing and tightening into a sharp, hot point deep in him and-

Zolf chokes out a wordless cry as everything releases at once and he comes. Cel works him through it, releasing him only when the sensitivity becomes too much.

The small, old bed creaks dangerously as he falls back against it, hard, and then creaks more as he feels Cel settle beside him. He rolls over to face them, focusing on their face as best he can through sudden exhaustion. “D- do you need…?”

They shake their head, their smile small and lazy. “I’m fine, Zolf. This was perfect.” They brush sweat-damp hair off his forehead. “How are you?”

He wriggles a little closer to them, finally dropping his arms. Cel doesn’t protest the movement. “‘m- I’m good I think. That was… good.” He’s close enough now to nuzzle their chest, and he does so. Cel hums, bringing their hand around to tangle in his hair. “Thank you,” he adds through a yawn. 

“I- you’re welcome,” Cel says. They pause. “Did you want… um, there’s the other bed. If you wanted.”

Zolf snorts softly, and just shakes his head where it is now pressed against their skin, breathing them in. “Do _you_?”

“Oh. No.”

He brings his arms around them, and is rewarded when they relax into the embrace, resting their cheek on the top of his head. “Goodnight, Cel,” he murmurs.

Cel yawns, and breathes their own goodnight. 

Zolf is asleep not a full breath later.


End file.
